By the time the last vendor left the boathouse that evening, the sky outside had dimmed to indigo. String lights glowed faintly across the rafters, casting golden reflections against the windows. The day's chaos had settled into a hush, but the mess remained: ribbons scattered, candleholders half-unpacked, and petals littering the floorboards.
Ava stood in the center of it all, tablet in hand, exhaustion prickling behind her eyes. Every muscle in her body ached. She should have gone home hours ago. But perfection didn't build itself.
She sank into a chair, rubbed her temple, and forced herself to focus on her checklist.
"You're still here."
The voice pulled her head up.
Ethan leaned against the doorway, a paper bag in one hand, his camera strap looped loosely around his shoulder. His shirt sleeves were rolled higher tonight, exposing strong forearms, dusted with flecks of sawdust and salt.
"I could ask you the same thing," Ava replied, her tone clipped.
"The difference is," he said, lifting the bag, "I brought dinner."
He crossed the floor and set the bag on a nearby table. The smell of warm bread and herbs wafted through the air. Ava's stomach betrayed her with an audible growl.
Ethan's lips curved. "When's the last time you ate?"
"I don't have time for—"
"Answer the question."
She pressed her lips together, unwilling to admit it had been since breakfast.
"That's what I thought." He pulled out two wrapped sandwiches and set one in front of her. "It's from the little deli by the harbor. Try it before you reject it."
"I didn't ask for—"
"Consider it a professional courtesy. If you pass out, I can't photograph the wedding."
Against her better judgment, Ava unwrapped the sandwich. The first bite melted across her tongue—soft bread, roasted vegetables, and a hint of garlic. Her eyes fluttered closed despite herself.
When she opened them again, Ethan was watching her, amusement tugging at his features.
"What?" she demanded.
"Didn't think the great Ava Bennett was capable of enjoying something unplanned."
Heat prickled her cheeks. She focused on her sandwich. "You're insufferable."
"Maybe." He sat across from her, unwrapping his own. "But I was right, wasn't I?"
She didn't answer. But the silence between them softened, filled with the rustle of paper and the quiet hum of crickets outside.
Later, as Ava sorted through candles, one tipped sideways and rolled across the table. She reached for it at the same time Ethan did. Their fingers brushed—just briefly—but the spark lingered longer than it should have.
Ava pulled her hand back quickly, heart stuttering. "I'll finish this. You can go."
"Not leaving you here alone."
She frowned. "I don't need protection."
"Didn't say you did." His voice was calm and steady. "But it's late. Work's lighter with two people."
For the next hour, they worked side by side. Ava adjusted table settings while Ethan strung lights higher across the beams. They fell into an easy rhythm—passing items, steadying ladders, exchanging dry comments that turned into faint smiles.
At one point, Ava misstepped, nearly toppling a box of votives. Ethan caught it just in time. She exhaled, rattled.
"Careful," he said softly, steadying the box with one hand. "You're allowed to let someone help, you know."
She froze, unsettled by the gentleness in his tone. It wasn't mocking. It wasn't amused. It was… sincere.
Her throat tightened. She turned away, busying herself with the ribbons.
"Help implies trust," she said after a moment. "And trust implies… risk."
Ethan was quiet for a long time. Then: "Maybe risk is where the real stuff happens."
Their eyes met across the half-lit boathouse. For one suspended second, Ava swore the air itself shifted, carrying something unnamed between them.
Then a strand of lights flickered out above, breaking the moment.
Ethan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess that's my cue to call it a night."
Ava nodded, too quickly. "Yes. We'll fix it tomorrow."
He slung his camera over his shoulder and headed toward the door. At the threshold, he paused, glancing back.
"You're not as untouchable as you think, Ava."
Her breath caught, but before she could reply, he was gone—leaving her in the golden hush of the boathouse, heart racing against her will.
For the first time since she'd arrived in Havenbrook, Ava wasn't sure who was in control: her plans… or the storm-gray eyes of Ethan Cole.